Rita placed down the letter, collapsing into her seat with a heavy sigh. What were Connie's motives for helping her? She looked over the piece of paper again, making certain that it definitely was the Clinical Lead's cursive and not some elaborate prank. But there was no mistaking it.
There was a knock at the door, and she hastily stuffed the letter into her pocket as Lofty shuffled awkwardly into the office. Rita smiled despite herself as the staff nurse hit the wall accidentally with the back of his head, letting out a surprised exclamation and jumping forwards.
"Oh, Lofty. What is it?"
"Tess told me to get you," he said sheepishly, rubbing his head through the mass of black curls. "Something about a major incident. A helicopter crash, I think. It sounds pretty serious."
"Okay. Thank you," she said, rising to her feet. "Er, have you seen Connie?"
Lofty glanced to the side, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "I think she's on a break too, but she'll be needed in Resus, right?"
Rita nodded, brow furrowing as she neatened the stack of papers on her desk. "Right. Thanks again."
"It was no problem," Lofty said with a lopsided smile, pausing before he turned and left the room. As he left, Rita moved out from behind her desk, fingers resting at her lips. She would have to speak to Connie about it. One part of her felt indignant that she had become so involved in such a personal matter. The other part... Well, she supposed that she felt strangely humbled by it. The last thing she had expected was to be valued by Connie. The words 'my Clinical Nurse Manager' stuck in her head and she shook the thought away, vaguely irritated. Really, how could she work if she was so distracted? Perhaps she should have taken the day off after all.
"Time of death, sixteen thirty two," Rita stepped back from the patient at Zoe's voice, breathing heavily. The unnamed man on the bed lay completely still, eyes closed peacefully. If it weren't for the extensive wounds to his upper body, one might think he was simply sleeping. She had lost count of exactly how many cycles of CPR she had performed, but her arms pricked uncomfortably as she raised a hand to wipe her forehead. It was clammy to her touch, and she moved away from the bed, seeking the exterior of the ED to cool herself down.
The sun was low in the sky as Rita stood outside the doors to the department, arms folded against her chest. It was relatively quiet, the only noise being the rumble of ambulance engines and occasional clatters from inside the ED. She let her eyelids flutter shut for a few moments, relishing the sensation of the afternoon air against her flushed skin.
"There was nothing else we could do," a voice spoke from behind her. Rita exhaled softly, opening her eyes to stare out across the road. Connie had followed her out.
"I know," came her quiet reply. "He was as good as dead the moment he fell from that helicopter."
Connie murmured her assent, watching the blonde from behind. Her expression was guarded, although something stirred in her eyes as Rita turned around to face her, and it did not go unnoticed.
"Look, I don't want to be pitied. That is exactly why I kept it quiet in the first place."
"I don't pity you."
"Then explain this," Rita produced the letter from her pocket. The wind stirred the paper, and it fluttered gently in her grip as Connie's gaze fell on it.
"I believe I justified my actions in writing," the Clinical Lead responded. "It would do the department no good for you to be away for so long."
"I thought you wanted me out," Rita met her gaze and held it, her own dark eyes narrowed in curiosity. There was little hostility left between them at that moment, and it was a strange feeling. Almost relieving.
"I-" Connie faltered for the first time, and Rita thought she might avoid answering altogether until she swallowed and opened her mouth to speak again. "I believe my judgement may have been clouded in the past by the actions of your husband. My apologies."
Rita's expression softened at the mention of Mark, and for a moment she looked as if she might waver. But she bit her lip, hesitating for the briefest second before speaking again.
"Thank you, Connie."
There was a brief period of silence, under which neither female knew exactly what to say. Rita folded her arms in a slightly awkward gesture, the letter tucked between her middle and index fingers.
"Right, yes, well you should get back to work," the Clinical Lead recovered her familiarly professional demeanour and Rita sighed inwardly. "Most of the other patients involved in the crash have been moved up to cubicles, but there's still one left in Resus. We're still waiting for contact details for her."
"Did you manage to get hold of that man's next of kin?" Rita questioned, tucking a few strands of blonde hair behind her ear.
"Yes," Connie replied. "A woman by the name of Joan Ring. That was Ian Ring, her son. She's been informed and I believe she's on her way now."
"Poor woman. It must be awful to lose a child." There was a few moments of silence before Rita realised what she had just said. Connie's expression had hardened. "Oh, Connie, I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"
"Just get back to work." The Clinical Lead's voice was clipped, and she turned from the nurse to head back inside.
Rita watched her leave, eyes round. As soon as Connie was out of sight, she tilted her face up to the sky in defeat. As soon as she had managed an almost civil conversation with her, she had gone and blown it by saying something stupid. It was in the patients' interest that they worked well together, and it would definitely make her life easier. She wasn't sure she had the energy to deal with Connie on her back for much longer.
The light outside was darkening, but reception was still very much alive. Lofty stood at reception, leaning against the front desk. He covered his mouth with a hand to conceal a yawn.
"Busy day?" He spun around to see Rita approaching him. The blonde looked exhausted, and he frowned inwardly. Something seemed off about her recently.
"Hey, Boss," the address was an affectionate one, and she gave him a weary smile.
"Alright, Lofty?"
"Yeah, er, I heard about your patient. I'm sorry."
"Well, there was nothing we could do for him," she pressed her lips together.
There was a loud clatter behind them and Lofty jumped. An elderly lady let out a surprised cry, stooping slightly in an attempt to reach a crutch on the floor - evidently the source of the noise. Rita was by her side in an instant, muttering a few soothing words as she crouched to pick up the crutch.
"It's alright, darling, I've got it."
"Oh, thank you, dear. I was looking for the toilets." The woman peered up at Rita through her glasses.
"That's not a problem. I can take you now if you like."
"Yes, thank you." Lofty smiled as she was led away. He was about to turn back to the desk, but something on the floor caught his eye. A small scrap of paper, neatly folded. Frowning, the nurse went to retrieve it. It must have fallen out of Rita's pocket when she bent to pick up the lady's crutch. Lofty glanced around, but she was nowhere in sight. Almost instinctively, he unfolded the paper.
"What's that?" Max's voice interrupted him, but he barely registered it as the porter peered over his shoulder at the letter. One word in particular jumped out at him from the paper, stunning him into silence.
Chemotherapy.
